Who We Were Before
by Anachronism X
Summary: 101 snippets of life between Juice and his old lady, Ava (female OC), recalled as they're getting ready to leave Charming for good after the end of S6. Some drabbles are fluff, some angst, and a healthy dose of everything in between. [Each is able to be read as an individual one shot while still building towards the larger story. There will be timejumps.]
1. The Mess We're In

_01. The Mess We're In (Intro)_

**AN**: This is a collection of stories which fit into a larger picture to tell the story of Juice and his old lady, Ava, after they've been forced on the lam after the events which conclude S6. It's format will be a bit different from many other stories as it's to be told in memories leading up to the present, snapshots that can stand alone as oneshots from the pair's past. Hopefully it will be an interesting rather than distracting change of tact for storytelling.

Whatever you think, I'd love to hear it. I'd also be interested in hearing if there's any specific thing you'd like to see brought up as a memory, be it an event from the show or just a general theme / idea. The chapters following the intro will be more substantial in length.

* * *

The sunlight filtered in through the broken hotel blinds, the first rays casting light over the dingy decor of the room. The new lighting illustrated the age of the faded curtains and sheets, highlighted the yellowing wallpaper that peeled in random sections. She hadn't expected much better when they checked in, not for what they'd paid.

A few of the beams threw light on him as he slept, his expression lax and peaceful for the first time she could remember in what felt like an age. His face was always hardened into a mask of worry, anymore. No trace of the broad, toothy grin she had grown so accustomed to.

And she had grown accustomed to it. Somewhere along the line, that flip of her stomach that used to accompany every laugh and smile had faded into complacency, occasionally even irritation. It pained her to think how many times she had told him to shut up or called him an idiot for that boisterous laugh.

Lighting up a cigarette, she wished more than anything to hear that laugh just once more.

They hadn't known how short lived their days of good would be, though. They had been young and stubbornly in love, and though neither of those things had changed, it seemed everything else had.

She ran her fingertips gingerly over the crow inked onto her forearm, a bittersweet flood of memories conjured up whenever she laid eyes on it. It brought tears to her eyes to consider the possibility that it would soon be inked over thick and solid black. Not unlike the words which once decorated his chest, now simple black rectangles that were still shiny and healing, now rising and falling with his calm sleeping breath.

There were times she hated her ink for calling back memories of days she could never reclaim, and on her best days, she loved it for providing a little hope for the future. If things were good once - and she knew in her heart that they _had_ been good - they could be that way again. With enough time, enough luck, perhaps they would see their way out of the mess they'd found themselves in.

She stamped out her cigarette in an ashtray, turning to survey Juice as he slept.

She didn't know whether her hope was founded or naive. What she did know, however, was that she still had him, and she still had her memories.

That would have to keep her for the time being.


	2. Unforgettable

**02. **_Unforgettable_**  
**The first time Ava and Juice met, set sometime in the early days of S1.

* * *

She still remembered the first time she'd seen his smile.

They'd met not long after the new shop had opened up on the far end of town, a small taste of a bigger city nestled just outside the sleepy mom and pop shopping district of Charming. It wasn't the ideal place for a tattoo parlor, but hell, anywhere had to have a younger generation waiting around the corner, Ava'd figured.

She was well honed at her craft, leaving behind a glowing apprenticeship as well as five solid years of quality work at her first shop near Venice Beach. It had just been time to move on from there, give it a go working on her own. When her sister's marriage had descended into turmoil and subsequently ended back in Charming, a sudden opportunity for rent-free family bonding had opened up. The puzzle pieces had simply fit.

Thus, Barbwire Body Art opened up at the beginning of the sweltering summer. It was small to begin with, just Ava, two other tattoo artists, and a resident piercing artist, but it was a start that she was willing to take. They had a decent set up, large plate glass front windows with the name painted across them, a pair of black leather couches in the lobby, and three chairs in the back. It was a _start._

A week after her grand opening – a celebration which had been frequented primarily by kids too young to actually go under the needle and passersby curious as to what new thing was opening in their relatively stagnant town – he walked in.

There wasn't a steady flow of business as there had been on the beach, no drunken tourists looking to get their lover's name inked on their bicep or spring breakers itching for that meaningful kanji symbol that they'd seen on the flash board. Ava had been keeping herself busy with relentlessly attacking each and every inch of her shop, cleaning and rearranging until she was absolutely certain that everything was in the perfect place and shined like a diamond.

The door chime caught her attention and she made her way from the back, where she'd been scrubbing the tile for the second time that day. She smiled when she was greeted by two leather-clad men, both with obvious ink of their own. One of them displayed various work on his arms, the other having taken the heavy plunge of having work done on his shaved head.

"Hey guys," she greeted personably, "what can I help you with, today?"

It didn't take a genius to notice their kuttes and colors, and Ava was not entirely unfamiliar with the culture of Charming. The younger looking of the two, the blonde, wore a vest that was almost entirely blank, the back of it displaying the word 'PROSPECT', visible at the angle he was turned to look through the book of examples of her work. The other, the one with the darker skin and the mohawk, seemed to be a 'full patch', she thought they called it.

"We were hoping we could talk to the owner," the blonde said, turning his attention from the book he'd been flipping through.

"You're lookin' at her," she replied easily, propping her elbows up on the glass counter that housed the body jewelry and the selection of 'tobacco use only' pipes the shop sold. She got the feeling neither of them were here for ink, though she wasn't sure what to expect otherwise.

"Uh, _you're_ the owner?" the Prospect asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin. The mohawked one shot a look at the blonde, who promptly returned to pursuing the laminated pages of photographs.

"Ava Harlen," she offered stiffly, extending a hand towards him. She knew that many people were surprised by a female tattoo artist, let alone a sole owner of a shop. She had anticipated that reaction when moving into a town that felt a little like it'd been frozen sometime in the distant past.

Juice wasn't surprised that she was a woman, by any means. He'd known that detail long before he'd shown up there, when her background check had revealed that she was Ava Marie Harlen, age twenty-seven, last known residence in Venice Beach. No time served, no outstanding charges or warrants, the only record being a few charges as a minor involving alcohol and curfew.

It was true enough that there weren't a lot of women who resembled Ava, as she'd introduced herself, in Charming; one of her arms displayed a large, intricate dragon, and the other, a pirate flag with a pink bow and the words 'fuck off' printed above and below it. Her short, shaggy black hair matched the dark, heavy smudges of eye makeup she wore around big, light blue eyes that made her a little intimidating.

Of course, Juice hadn't intentionally processed all of those details about the woman standing before him. His mind had summed them up and given him a simple summary accordingly – she was hot, in a slightly scary sort of way. Thus the look he'd given Half Sack that had all but clearly said, 'I got this'.

"Juice," he introduced himself, taking the hand she'd offered.

"So, now that you've got the owner, what can I do for you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. She'd heard talk of these guys, Lora filling her in on the comings and goings of the town she'd dragged her sister back to; they were everywhere in Charming, and from what most people understood, they held just as much pull as the boys in blue.

He hadn't come there to get tatted up – Happy usually took care of that for any of the Sons – but rather, as a measure of recon. Businesses didn't simply open up in Charming without Clay having some sort of stake in them, or at very least, making sure no rival clubs did. For all they'd known about whoever opened up the place, it could've been a Nordic or Mayan powerplay to get a little stake in the economy of the town.

The pres had obviously not been too worried, considering he'd sent Juice and a prospect out to investigate; had it been something that would've pulled real revenue, there was little doubt he would've sent Jax or Tig to scope the situation.

"Just comin' by to check out the place. Missed the grand opening, y'know," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around the lobby of the shop. "Not everyday we get a new place slinging ink, around here."

Ava cringed at the euphemism. 'Slinging ink' was one of the least appropriate ways to describe what she or any other tattoo artist did, and bordered a bit too close to insulting. It was generally what someone said when they wanted to sound at ease with tattoo culture or in the know, although it nearly always had the opposite of its intended effect.

"Right," she answered curtly, straightening her posture some. "It wasn't exactly a huge event. Not a lot of people looking for work, here."

"Where'd you come in from?" he asked, the underlying question being, 'why are you here?'. Even to his own ears, his nonchalance sounded forced. He'd never been great at being super suave and inconspicuous, and that much was obvious in his current interaction.

"I worked in Venice Beach for the last five years or so. My sister lives in town, and it was just time to open up my own place, get away from the beach for a while," she explained honestly. Though her level of suspicion was rising, there seemed to be no point in being dishonest about her motives in coming to the town.

"Not exactly tattoo central around here," Juice observed with a small grin.

The ice cracked ever so slightly. She could have been misjudging them entirely, but neither of the two men standing in her shop looked like massive threats to her safety, and this one – Juice, he was calling himself – had a damned contagious smile.

"Wouldn't know by looking at _you_," she shot back, returning his grin. She stood on tiptoe to really get a look at the linework of the tribal that decorated his skull, finding that her vantage point from behind the counter was still an obstructed view.

She rounded the edge of the counter and gestured to his head. "May I?"

He was a bit confused by the request, rarely even thinking about the tattoos on either side of his mohawk, anymore. He'd had them for so long that he hardly remembered they were there until someone mentioned them or pointed them out.

"Oh, uh, sure," he obliged, ducking his head slightly so that she could better see.

"Clean line work," she murmured appreciatively, running her fingertips over the outline of one of the designs. His scalp was sandpaper beneath her fingers, obviously shaved recently. The action was commonplace to her, an individual who put art on skin for a living, but it sent a shiver up his spine.

"Thanks," he answered, that huge grin still bolted in place. "Yours is nice, too."

She gestured to the dragon piece on her right arm. "This guy is well done and super clean, really proud of it. But this?" she pointed at the piece on her left that took up the entire cap of her upper arm, a sheepish smile on her lips. "I was seventeen and stupid. No one actually thinks getting 'fuck off' permanently inked on their skin is a good idea unless they meet both those requirements."

Juice laughed at how easygoing she was about it. She didn't seem bothered by the fact that she'd made a mistake, or that the mistake was a fairly evident one; the design was too large and dark to imagine making a very convincing cover up out of it, and the way she'd spoken about it was so carefree.

"Could be worse, I guess," he answered, grin widening as he looked down at her.

Even Half Sack could see the obvious staring contest they seemed to be having. Juice was working all of that goofy charm he had, and the girl seemed to be doing the same. The prospect couldn't help feeling the smallest note of jealousy; this Ava chick was probably a lot closer to his type than Juice's, anyway.

Being in the prospect stage, however, he knew better than to ignore the pointed look he'd been shot when she'd introduced herself – Juice was going to try and push up on this one, or at least flirt with her for the moment.

But that hadn't been what they'd came there for, to begin with. The purpose of the trip had been to find out whether or not she had any ties to rival clubs, what her interest was in their town. Half Sack cleared his throat, hoping to remind Juice of that.

It worked, despite Juice's slight irritation.

"So, um, there's a fundraiser coming up," he said, snapping back into business mode. His posture straightened and his demeanor changed visibly. "Sponsored by the Sons of Anarchy MC, for the middle school music program. Real big deal with the local businesses. The president of our charter wanted to invite you to participate. I think they still need somebody to paint faces at the booth, last I checked."

"I'm not sure, man. I'm just getting settled in here, and…"Ava's uncertainty was obvious. The idea of spending a day in a gathering full of strangers, interacting almost exclusively with children made her skin crawl.

"Should also mention you get a color ad in the pennysaver, and your shop name on the handouts," he tacked on, baiting her into considering it.

She couldn't exactly pass up the idea of free press, word of mouth obviously not cutting it as far as business was concerned. And from what she'd heard of the MC, turning down kindness they happened to offer was not the best way to win the Charming popularity contest.

"When is it?" she asked with a sigh.

"Two weeks, last Saturday of the month," he said with a grin. In his mind, it had been his charm rather than the free press that'd hooked her. His relief was twofold, however. If she was in anyone else's pocket, there's no way she'd even attend a function sponsored by a rival club, let alone agree to pitch in at one.

"Can I get a contract drawn up on the advertising before then?" she asked, her turn to be business minded. It was a nice promise, but even in a town where everything seemed to be run on an honor system, she wasn't a mom and pop kind of girl.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I can get you in touch with the right people before then, easy," he boasted.

"Oh, can you, now?" she asked with a quirked brow. Ava had her doubts about him being the right person to set up the deal, her first impression of someone named Juice being a less than stellar credit to his ability to deal with business transactions.

"You know it," he answered, reaching past her, just shy of brushing her arm, to grab one of the business cards from the holder on the counter. He scribbled a number on the back of it before handing it back to her.

"No name?" she asked, inspecting the digits he'd penned there.

"You're gonna forget the name Juice?" he asked disbelievingly, still grinning broad and toothy.

"Guess not. I'll get in touch," she said and fought the urge to roll her eyes, only biting back her sarcasm because she supposed he was right – that was a moniker she wasn't likely to lose track of anytime soon.

Not to mention that damned megawatt smile that came along with it.


	3. Text Alert

_ 03. Text Alert_

After dancing around each other via text, Ava and Juice finally manage to meet up in person for their first quasi-date.

* * *

It was weeks after they'd first met that Ava and Juice had anything one could consider a date.

The two exchanged texts after she'd called to get put in touch with the people in charge of the fundraiser. Even after the big day came and went - much more smoothly than Ava would've thought, actually - there was still the occasional _'whats up?'_ or funny cat picture.

He was fun to talk to, keep her mind off of the crushing boredom of slow business, as far as she was concerned. Besides, any twenty-first century girl enjoyed texting with a cute guy.

He felt much the same, just riding the same wave of instant gratification as any other guy who would admit to getting a little stoked when that _ding_! let him know there was a message in his inbox.

It was a Friday night when she'd had a little to drink that she decided to press her luck.

Closer to thirty than she was to twenty, Ava couldn't help feeling out of place at a house party. Lora, her recent divorcee of a baby sister, had wanted to go after being invited by some friend of a friend, and so, they had went just outside Charming, to some college kids bash.

She'd spent the first part of the evening schooling some idiots on the billiard table, then tried her hand at beer pong. It was barely midnight when her disillusionment started to really settle in.

She found herself nursing a beer on the back patio, keeping a halfhearted eye on her sister; as long as she didn't get truly stupid, Lora was entitled to her fun. Twenty-one years old and already divorced, the girl deserved it.

Her phone went off, vibrating inside her pocket. She pulled it out to check it with a smile.

_What do girls like you do on a Friday night? - J_

There was no real use pretending to be less available or more enthusiastic about her plans than she honestly was; faking her way into the Ms. Congeniality spot with that tired Cosmopolitan magazine advice wasn't really her style.

_Drink til we feel less outta place. House party making me feel prehistoric. - A_

Miles away in Charming, Juice sat in the oversized leather chair in the corner of the clubhouse, listening to Bobby and Chibs debate something political. He wasn't really following it too closely, more interested in his phone and the distraction it provided at the moment.

_What's the matter, boring date? - J_

He wouldn't pretend he wasn't testing the waters with that comment. He'd been talking to Ava for a while at that point, off and on conversation that never led up to actually seeing each other. It wasn't the first time he considered that perhaps they'd yet to meet up because of someone she might be tied up with seeing.

_Ha. Right. No date. Just bored. - A_

A simple enough reply, but it certainly told him what he wanted to he. He grinned to himself, apropos of nothing happening where he currently was. The guys were far too wrapped up in their own conversation to notice his smirking, anyway.

_That's a shame. Shoulda asked me & you might not be. ;) - J_

His bravado made her chuckle out loud, though the only people nearby were too focused on passing a joint around their circle to take note of it. They often went back and forth in that easygoing, flirtatious manner, though it had yet to amount to anything.

Maybe it was the alcohol in her system, or maybe just the boredom, but the moment she hit send on her reply, she felt a twinge of uncertainty about what she'd said.

_$20 says you wouldn't come anyway. - A_

He stared at the words on the screen for a moment before looking around the clubhouse. It wasn't empty by any means, but it was far from full. There wasn't much going on to keep anyone's attention, much less pacify his rampant ADHD. Plus, it was as close to a real invitation to see this mystery girl he'd been texting as he'd managed to get.

Every bit as uncertain as she had been, he decided to just say what the hell; there was really nothing to lose with his reply.

_O really? $50 says you won't send me the address. - J_

She hadn't foreseen him upping the ante for one reason or another, and she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach when she read his response. She doubted anyone at the party would notice one more uninvited guest and at that point, it looked a bit like Lora had a pretty good shot of going home with the guy she'd been pawing at all evening.

Giving a shrug, she attached a location ping to her simple message.

_Put your money where your mouth is, tough guy. - A_

So, now she was calling his bluff, making it into a challenge. He plugged the location into his GPS program - he could be there in fifteen, twenty minutes tops. It was close enough to the clubhouse that he'd have no issue getting back if they needed him, a consideration ingrained in him to make before taking off.

If nothing else, it'd be worth a shot. Better than watching everyone absorbed in their own conversations while time ticked by as he had been doing, all evening.

_C ya soon beautiful. - J_

She rolled her eyes at his reply, her gut reaction being disbelief. She was sure he was kidding, talking herself down from actually thinking he had nothing better to do on a Friday than to come keep her company at a party that was, by her own admission, lame. Still, the thought gave her an excited thrill she was staunchly attempting to ignore.

She refused to think he'd actually show, continuing the evening as if nothing was different for the next half hour or so. She finished her beer and found something else to drink, some homemade, booze heavy concoction labeled 'jungle punch', before reclaiming her throne as antisocial queen of the patio.

It wasn't until he was standing in front of her, grinning with arms crossed, that her perma-scowl faded into a look of shock. She nearly spit out her fruity drink at the sight of him, his kutte thrown over a white shirt, looking every bit as her memory had reminded her he did too many times.

"You weren't expecting me to show?" he asked, quirking a brow. The look of surprise on her face had been classic, rendering his question rhetorical.

"No, not really," she laughed, rising to her feet out of politeness. "Always go so far outta your way to rescue a bored damsel in distress?"

"Chivalry ain't dead," he said and shrugged. She didn't need to know that there was nothing at all going on that night, barely even a croweater to be seen in the clubhouse. As far as she knew, he was a busy, in demand guy who'd made time for her in his chaotic schedule.

"This party is," she declared, sipping her drink. She offered him the cliche red solo cup. "You drink?"

He leaned in and smelled it, pulling a face; whatever was in her cup had more than one type of liquor in it, too strong to chance riding on. As often as his brothers said otherwise, he wasn't a _total_ idiot.

"Nah. Designated driver and all that," he declined, looking around the party. Seeing a few people already doing the same, he produced a joint from his pocket. "You smoke?"

She couldn't help laughing. He couldn't drink, but apparently smoking was different. Whatever floated his boat, she supposed.

"Probably shouldn't do both..." she weighed her options with a frown, deciding to keep her wits a little closer to home than they would've been had she smoked. She drank far more often than she smoked, making her tolerance for one much stronger than the other.

A momentary beat of awkward silence passed, Ava glaring off into the distance.

"You always in this good of a mood or are you just happy to see me?" he asked a bit awkward, rocking on his heels as he exhaled a deep pull of smoke. There was something about her scowling, nihilistic nature that came across to him more as adorable than it's intended bad ass appeal.

She grinned sheepishly, feeling her cheeks warm slightly. She was actually in a relatively wonderful mood, though she realized she was perhaps playing it too cool in an effort to keep from seeming over eager.

"I am happy to see you, actually," she admitted, light eyes finally falling on his. It wasn't a gushy, romantic thing to say, but it was the best Ava was capable of.

He seemed surprised by the admission, eyes widening for a quick beat before a smile settled over his lips.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, tilting his head. His tone of voice made it clear that his ego had been boosted slightly.

"'Course. You still owe me fifty bucks," she teased, giving him a playful nudge with her elbow. She bit back the urge to tease too harshly, not sure how much of an ego guy Juice was and reluctant to offend him on such new territory.

"We can call it thirty, once you take out the twenty _you_ owe _me_," he answered, apparently taking it in stride.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how to take her teasing. He still wasn't exactly certain how to gauge her interest, though he supposed she wouldn't have invited him if she wasn't into it at all. Women, though - he didn't pretend to understand.

"How about we just call it even since you saved my night?" she offered, showcasing a grin of her own. That made him feel good, though he did his best to keep that under wraps.

"Worse ways to spend a Friday night," he declared, taking another toke as they exchanged a look.

The conversation went easily enough from there, Ava's tightly wound demeanor loosening slightly with the help of the alcohol and Juice's nerves pacified by his marijuana. They spoke about business at her shop, about his bike, about the sort of topical fodder that two people discussed on their first... Whatever it was.

An hour, hour and a half into the conversation, they'd somehow managed to end up standing far closer together than they had started out, leaning against the fence that surrounded the patio. She was buzzed but not wasted, while he was stoned, not wrecked. People were beginning to disperse to wherever it was they were ending their respective nights while they stood their, engrossed in banter and conversation.

One minute, she was talking about surfing in Venice Beach while he stared pointedly at her mouth, and the next, he found himself cutting her off with his lips against hers. He hadn't given her any warning, hadn't even truly thought it through himself, but as it happened, she didn't react too badly.

After a momentary freeze, she responded in kind, her lips moving against his in a way that said she'd been thinking about that moment, too. And she had. It had been a monumental effort on her part to think up topics to chat about when all she'd been able to think about was the sheer physical tension between them and how it could be assuaged. She'd have been willing to bet money he was a fantastic kisser, amongst other skills.

He tasted like weed and the mouthwash he'd used before arriving that night; she tasted like cigarettes and the strong drink she'd been nursing. Neither was the most pleasant flavor, but the kiss was electric for them both after weeks of building up playful anticipation and an hour of dancing around it. He wasted no time trying to set the mood for it and she liked that, while he felt a surge of confidence at the fact that she didn't pull away, but rather kissed back with a matching intensity.

They'd go on to very nearly end up making use of one of the spare bedrooms that same night, only to be thwarted by a very drunk and overly emotional Lora, who had apparently remembered how heartbroken her husband had left her somewhere around her thirteenth shot of the evening.

Both of them left edgy and disgruntled by the interruption, deadset on seeing each other again.

Even a couple years later, Ava would insist she was never going to sleep with him that night anyway, despite the fact that she obviously would have. Juice was always quick to remind her that it wasn't _him_ who suggested the woods as a viable alternative to the bedroom before her sister had come calling.

* * *

**AN**: Wow! Thanks for the reviews, guys! There's definitely a chapter on the horizon dealing with Ava's crow, and plenty of Juice to go around. I'd love to hear what more of you think and what you'd like to see!


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